


Jealousy

by MarieQuiteContrarie (SeaStar1330)



Series: Morning Glory [5]
Category: Macelle - Fandom, Once Upon a Time (TV), The Tournament (2009)
Genre: Anal Play, Blow Jobs, Crossover Pairings, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Jealousy, Married Couple, Porn With Plot, Rough Sex, Smut, Storybrooke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-05-28 14:35:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15051290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaStar1330/pseuds/MarieQuiteContrarie
Summary: Belle's former boyfriend comes to town and Joseph is jealous. Belle makes it better as only Belle can.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For my 500k Ficlet Fling, bookwormchocaholic prompted: “Morning Glory prompt: Joseph meets one Belle's old flames and is jealous; Belle must reassure him (in a way that can only be smutty ;)) that she loves only him. ;~P”

“Finally, I can take off this blazer,” Joseph grumbles in the hallway outside their flat. His voice sounds tinny and ungrateful in the small vestibule and he sucks on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from complaining.

Belle jiggles the key in the lock and twists the doorknob, leading the way into their apartment. While he crosses the threshold, Joseph wrestles out of his wool jacket, flinging it over the handles of his bicycle with a groan of relief and shooting it a dirty look. Humming a tuneless song, Belle toes out of her towering heels and pads into the kitchen.

“You look very handsome tonight. Distinguished.” The delighted smile plastered on his wife’s face hasn’t budged an inch all evening. “And the library fundraiser was a massive success.”

Joseph makes a non-committal grunt and slumps on the sofa, loosening his collar and yanking off his tie. He wriggles in his seat and tosses the throw pillow wedged behind his back on the floor, anxious in his own too-tight skin. Maybe a distraction is what he needs. The television remote catches his attention and he picks up the shiny little black box and frowns at it before setting it back on the coffee table.

Tonight he’d donned a suit and tie for the first time in his life.

He prefers the comfortable jeans and work shirts he wears to the drugstore each day. It’s a uniform of sorts, and after years of wearing the black vestments and white collar of a priest, choosing clothing every day is too daunting a task. But tonight had been a special occasion: the Storybrooke Library Annual Gala. Since Belle is head librarian and loves an excuse to dress up, she’d arranged for a fancy, buttoned-up to-do.

The day they bought his light grey pinstripe suit and navy tie, Belle’s face lit with pleasure like a Christmas tree, her hungry eyes following his every move in the three-way-mirror while the tailor clucked and took measurements. Then she followed him into the fitting room, dropped to her knees, and sucked him off, careful not to spill a drop on his brand new trousers. He’d come fast and hard in her soft, hot mouth, biting his own tongue to quiet his moans.

His cock stirs while he relives the erotic moment, but a more recent memory spoils it: the flashing grey eyes and sardonic smile of Belle’s former lover.  
_  
_ _Jefferson Miller._

Her college beau—a tall, braw fashion designer with the unruly crop of thick curls beneath an elegant top hat—had blown into town from Boston for tonight’s gala. All evening, the bloke danced around Belle while she sipped drinks and nibbled shrimp cocktail, and no amount of pointed glaring from Joseph would make him go away. He kept kissing Belle’s hand, muttering in her ear and making her laugh. He’d stood there like a dafty while this blighter entertained his wife, hands shoved in his pockets. 

Joseph grits his teeth, a band of tension rippling across his shoulders. What kind of a name is Jefferson, anyway?

He’s fuzzy on the details, but he knows Belle’s relationship with Jefferson fizzled years ago, before he ever moved to Storybrooke and met her. But the way Jefferson looked at Belle tonight reminded Joseph how desirable his wife is. He watches her now through his lashes as she moves around the kitchen. Soft and warm and stunning, her off-the-shoulder sapphire dress makes her creamy complexion look flawless, almost ethereal, even under the garish fluorescent light above her head. How many men would love to be in his shoes?

Although Belle stuck close to him all night—pressing her back against his chest and looping her arms around his waist while she talked and smiled and sipped her Cosmopolitan—social situations unnerve him. What he knows about fashion or society conversation could fit inside one of Jefferson’s tiny metal thimbles. No matter how funny and smart Belle claims he is, in the company of a cool, big-city big-shot like Jefferson, Joseph is out of his depth and tongue-tied.  
  
The interminable evening had ended, Jefferson bowing over Belle’s hand once more before finally sodding off in a drunken stupor to find a pillow at Granny’s Inn. The two of them walked the three blocks home to their apartment, drinking in the rainy, flower-imbued scent of spring air. He tried to feel happy with Belle clutching his bicep and chattering about the gala, but worthlessness hissed at him from the pit. 

Unaware of his misery, Belle bustles around the galley kitchen in her evening ritual, lighting vanilla cinnamon candles and putting the kettle on for tea. She looks through the opening into the living room and offers a generous smile. “You could have worn a proper kilt and really given the town a show, Joseph.”  

“Aye, right.” Scowling, he crosses his arms and leans back against the couch cushions.

Her brow furrows and her smile fades, and he hates himself for stealing her joy. “You look troubled, love,” she says. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he lies, but he can’t help but wonder: Why would a woman with the grace and vivacity of Belle want to be shackled to a lowly shopkeep for life when she could have a wealthy, classy bloke like Jefferson?

He curses himself for his treacherous thoughts. Belle loves him, he has no doubt. And he learned this lesson before their marriage when he’d been wildly jealous of Merlin—a charming bloke he believed to be Belle’s admirer—who turned out to be not a man, but his own guardian angel.

Belle is waiting for him to speak now, head cocked in his direction as she pours boiling water into two mugs for their tea. The scents of jasmine and vanilla perfume the air and he breathes deeply of the familiar, homey scents.

 _Lord,_ he beseeches, _help me be brave._

He sucks on the inside of his cheek again, then blurts, “How many years were you and Miller together?”

“Oh, Joseph.” Understanding dawns on her face and she rushes from the kitchen to the couch to take his hands. While he’d been moping, she’d taken off her dress, and he sees the dusky outline of her areolas. Her nipples pucker, jutting out against the silk of her thigh-high slip and he bites back a whimper as his cock stirs. She curls up next to him on the sofa, her thumbs making tiny circles against his wrists, creating goosebumps in their wake.

“Fewer years than I’ve known you, and it was so long ago and I was very young. Maybe a year at most. We were friends first, and we should have stayed friends.” She presses her lips together. “He was, and to this day remains an outrageous flirt.”  
  
Her mouth curves as she speaks of Jefferson, but it is a smile of distant fondness, holding none of the heat and passion that blazes in her eyes when she looks at Joseph. “Jefferson came tonight to show off his success as a designer and to write a fat check. It’s who he is. Flashy and eccentric, yet generous in his own way. And harmless.”  
  
“Maybe.” Unappeased, Joseph frowns and shifts on the couch, flicking open the top two buttons of his shirt. “He looked like he wanted to make a deposit somewhere other than the library.” His words have grown bolder, but he ducks his head to hide the fire in his cheeks.

“Joseph, are you jealous?” Eyes dancing with mirth, Belle flutters her thick, dark lashes and bites her full lower lip, and he can tell she’s holding back a laugh.

Those little white teeth digging into her plump pink lips make his cock harden in spite of himself. Feeling like a fool, he jumps off the sofa with a huff. “I don’t have to listen to this. I’m going to bed.”

Before he takes a step, she sashays in front of him and presses her mouth to his in a brief, sweet kiss. “Joseph, please, I’m sorry,” she says against his lips. “I didn’t mean to laugh.”

“Oh yeah?” he challenges, clinging to his pride.

She cradles his cheeks with her hands, her eyes serious while her thumbs stroke his jaw. “Did it feel to you like I was flirting back?”

He searches her tone for reproach or teasing, finding neither. “No,” he admits. “Not at all...it’s just...” He swallows hard, then grabs her shoulders and jerks her closer till he can feel her breasts against his chest. “I wanted to rip the stupid top-hat off his head and stomp on it, then pop him in the jaw with my fist. Flirting with you and trying to make you laugh. Looking at you as though you were one of those tiny salmon cakes he was stuffing in his geggy all night!”

“Why Joseph.” She bats her eyelashes at him again, a wide smile splitting her face. “I’m flattered.”

Flattered? She can’t mean...Belle likes him acting like a jealous idiot?

Her shrug is sheepish, and when he blinks at her in surprise she winds her arms around his neck, her cheeks flushing.

She presses her lips together in a guilty little smile. “It’s prideful, I know, but a woman likes to know her husband doesn’t want to share her. The Lord knows I have no intention of sharing you with any of the women who were eyeing you at the benefit tonight.”

He shakes his head, unable to believe anyone except Belle would be crazy enough to be interested in the likes of him. Her curves are warm and soft against his body, and images of the two of them joined in lovemaking fill his mind; she arching beneath him while he drives into her, Belle riding him fast and urgent while his feet slip and slide in the shower, his face buried between her legs while she yanks on his hair and screams his name.

She leans closer, touching her forehead to his and bringing one of their joined hands to press against her heart. Its steady thump against his palm calms his wounded spirit.

“I’m yours, Belle. Always.”

“And I’m yours, my Joseph. Let me show you.” Before he can form another thought, her mouth is hot on his throat, suckling and nibbling, her hands doing small things to the hair on the back of his neck that make his breath catch in his throat.

Hot hands palm his cock through his trousers, the friction of her hand through the wool making him moan. “I want only you.”

She sinks to her knees on the carpet to take him in hand more firmly, and he hears the clink of his belt and the whoosh of his zipper, his resolve to go to bed angry weakening with her every touch. He kicks off his trousers and underwear and he feels the brush of his cock against his belly, warm, flushed and beyond ready for her. She presses a kiss to his leaking tip and he sags backward with a whimper, resting his hips against the arm of the sofa in surrender.

“I love only you.” Her breath ghosts over his cock like fire. Then a manicured hand is cupping his balls, giving the sensitive flesh a roll and a bounce, followed by another tender kiss. Those cerulean eyes gaze up at him from her place on the floor with worshipful adoration.

He starts to object. He should be the one on his knees for her, but she swirls her tongue around the head of his cock and his protests are lost. A rough, needy cry tears from his throat and he bites down on his tongue to muffle the shameful sounds.

“No one’s here now, baby,” she coos, referring to the last time she’d done this, in the dressing room of the men’s store. “Be as loud as you want to be. I love to hear you moan.”

He sobs, rocking back against the sofa and over-balances, toppling over the arm of the couch. Startled, he lands sprawled on his back, his shirt half unbuttoned and his lower half bare, his cock jutting high in the air.

Belle crawls over the top of the couch to kneel between his legs and sweet Jesus, he can see her breasts as she leans over him. The thought of sucking and biting her nipples makes his mouth water and he struggles to lean forward, but her slight weight pins him to the sofa.

“Relax,” she purrs, her hands massaging the tops of his thighs, her breath hot on his wet cock. “I want to suck you. Let me make you feel good, my Joseph. Don’t you want to feel good?”

He does; more than anything he wants to drown in the pleasure only Belle can give him. “Yes!”

She smiles, then her mouth is on him again, taking him deeper, bobbing up and down on his cock until he might weep. His hands are buried in her decadent curls as her mouth moves over him, sliding up and down from base to tip. She offers the head an insistent suckle, making him cry out, and then slides him all the way in until his cock bumps the back of her throat.

She releases his cock with an obscene pop and he cries out again at the loss of heat and suction, but _oh God,_ she’s running the tip of her tongue around the base of him and licking his heavy, aching balls while her thumb moves back and forth across his slit, tormenting him with delicate, fluttering touches.

When he is a shaking, writhing mass of sensation, he calls out for her, his beautiful Belle, begging her to let him come.

“Belle! Please!” He squeezes his eyes shut and moans, the first telltale sign of his release making his belly cramp.

She takes him all the way in again, sucking hard and fast and deep, and he thrusts into her mouth with a choked scream. His balls draw up, tight and hard, and he raises his knees as hot cum explodes from his body and pours down her throat. Keening, he clutches at her, the pleasure blinding him, his world reduced to the heat of her mouth and the urgent jerk of his hips. It goes on and on, his body arching up to meet her, until he can’t remember his own name.

The next thing he knows, she is leaning over him on the couch stroking his jaw. He blinks up at her, coming back to himself, feeling boneless and sated.  
  
“Okay?” she asks. He shudders; her voice is slightly hoarse from swallowing his cock and she looks tousled and gorgeous.

“Amazing.” The rich, musky smell of her arousal revives him and he reaches for the hem of her panties, wanting to feel her, slick and throbbing around his fingers.

“You don’t have to,” she says, shaking her head. “This was for you.”

His grin widens as he strokes the damp gusset of her underwear. She is biting her lip and no longer smiling, her tone not the least bit convincing. She pulls away from his questing fingers, folding herself against the opposite arm of the sofa. It’s a mistake. He can see the wetness of her panties, smell her musky, flowery scent.

“I think you want me to, don’t you?” he asks in a husky voice. “Yes, you sucked me dry, my bonny Belle, and now you’re soaked, aren’t you?”

Her eyes slide closed and she moans. “Yes.” She nods her head. “Oh, God, yes.”

“Open for me, sweet,” he coaxes, crawling across the cushions. He may not know how to tie a double Windsor knot but in this, at least, he is confident. Belle bends her open legs wider, inviting him to nuzzle between them, and he presses his face against her panties, inhaling her hot sweetness.

It won’t take much, he realizes, as he pulls the scrap of silk aside and noses her; she is soaked and swollen and trembling. With the first lick of her slit she is already pulsing against his tongue, her thighs twitching. He fastens his mouth around her clit, enclosing the hot little bud and sucking hard. She screams, shattering, her hips quaking. He holds on tight while she thrashes and wails, his arms around her arse, sucking and licking and loving her until he has swallowed every drop and her hips slump on the couch in exhaustion.    
  
“So, jealousy?” he prompts a while later when she is lazing in his arms on the sofa. His limbs are heavy and he is drunk on her honeysuckle essence, his mouth still buzzing with pleasure.  

“Yes?” Belle kisses his neck, her hair tickling his chin.

“Not always such a bad thing after all, eh?”

A muffled giggle meets his ears. “I love you, Joseph.”

###


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still jealous of Belle's ex-boyfriend, Jefferson, Joseph decides to make some changes and romance Belle the way he thinks she deserves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wasn't done having fun with this one.
> 
> For the July AMR prompt: What are you wearing? AND Rumple-Belle prompted: Macelle morning glory verse — Joseph tries to seduce Belle, you decide how awkward, adorable, and or successful he is.
> 
> Bless maplesyrupao3 for her help with the funnies!

 

“Joseph, darling? What are you wearing?”

Belle looks up from applying her new Red Revival lipstick to stare at her husband. Behind her, Joseph fidgets in the mirror, hands fluttering around his lean hips. He’s wearing clothes she’s never seen before and never imagined he would choose for himself: a three-piece suit with a burgundy velvet jacket and a brocade waistcoat, a silk ascot, and shiny black dress boots.

“New outfit. What do you think?” His hands tremble, betraying his nervousness as he straightens his strange tie in the mirror.

Studying him, Belle sinks her teeth into her freshly painted lips. She wants to giggle at the ridiculous, foppish ensemble. Crushed velvet and brocade? An ascot? Her Joseph looks like he escaped from the Historical Emporium website. The stiff formalwear isn’t at all like the comfortable, casual cargo pants and soft button-downs he usually prefers, yet there’s something about this dandied look she recognizes.

Then it dawns on her: _Jefferson_. The library fundraiser last week.

Jefferson, Belle’s long since dumped and forgotten fashion designer ex-boyfriend, had made a surprise visit from Boston to support Belle’s event and seized the opportunity to flirt with everything on two legs. Including Belle. Jefferson lived to wear outrageous clothes and say outrageous things, but Joseph had been none too happy when Jefferson compared Belle’s eyes to twin supernovas.

No, he’d been wildly jealous, in fact, and the bizarre getup he’s now sporting and fussing with in front of the mirror screams Jefferson.

Belle suppresses a sigh as she watches her husband examine his reflection in her vanity. She thought the enthusiastic blow job she’d given him the night of the party had put the ghost of Jefferson to rest once and for all, but Joseph going clothes shopping at Victorians-R-Us suggests he needs more convincing.

The look is too flashy on her understated husband, detracting from his subtle handsomeness and quiet inner strength. At least his jacket doesn’t have tails.

She starts to suggest Joseph change into something more familiar and comfortable, but when he finally meets her eyes, his gaze wide and earnest, Belle swallows her words. Lying isn’t like her, but she won’t crush his fragile self-esteem, either. Joseph thinks so little of himself as it is.

She blots at her lips and teeth with a tissue, then offers a bright smile. “Do _you_ like the clothes, sweetheart?”

“I bought them,” he replies with a nervous smile and a shrug.

Tonight’s date night agenda begins to make sense. Instead of donning jeans and going out for a large, comforting bowl of noodles or to the cozy pub around the corner to indulge in fish and chips loaded with salt and doused in malt vinegar, Joseph insisted they dress up for dinner and made reservations at a chic new French restaurant across town.

She rises from her vanity chair and goes to him, taking his hands. “You always look wonderful to me, and all I care about is you being comfortable. If you like the clothes, so do I. Burgundy is a good color on you. Brings out your beautiful brown eyes.” She gives his hands an affectionate squeeze.

The praise makes him stand taller even as the cords of tension in his neck relax. “Thank you. Your dress...you’re stunning, Belle.”

Admiration lights his face and Belle giggles while she smooths her hands over the soutache appliqué scrolls of her navy and cream cocktail sheath dress. Joseph’s sweet, shy compliments never fail to make her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

“I bet it looks even better on the floor,” she purrs, then curves her hand along his face to cup his jaw. “Would you like to find out?” She’d love nothing more than to coax him out of those bizarre clothes and forget their evening plans. Slip into sweats and eat leftover shepherd’s pie he made for supper last night straight from the fridge, then spend the rest of the night fucking him senseless.

His cheek is warm and smooth beneath her fingers and he leans into her touch with a sigh and a nuzzle of her palm. Belle can sense him wavering between going out and staying in, but he pulls back and straightens. “We have reservations.” He cups her elbow, leading her through the bathroom and into the living room. “Let me spoil you.”

“You spoil me every day just by being you,” she insists, but she allows him to guide her into the small, echoey entryway and smiles while he tucks her wrap around her shoulders.

Joseph sets a bowler hat on his head in the exact shade of his burgundy jacket and opens the door with a flourishing bow. Silently cursing Jefferson, Belle precedes Joseph through the open doorway.

If this keeps up, they’re going to have an interesting evening.

* * *

 

Even given Joseph’s formal outfit tonight, the elegant opulence of the new French restaurant Cher Baudelaire takes Belle by surprise.

Their wedding had been a far more casual affair, Joseph clad in an open-collared white shirt and khakis, she in a white sundress. Hands joined, they’d dug their bare toes into the sand, the sun hanging like a ripe, juicy orange in the pink sky as they said their vows on the beach. Afterward, they’d shared a quiet dinner with a few friends hosted by Astrid. It had been simple and unpretentious and _them._

Belle runs a finger down the delicate, etched stem of a wine glass and leans across the table. “Joseph,” she whispers, glancing around the chic dining room at mahogany-paneled walls and sparkling chandeliers dripping with crystals, “can we afford this place?”

His fingers tighten around his menu and he draws his lips into a thin line. “We can.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, and takes a tiny sip of the champagne Joseph insisted on ordering for her. She doesn’t mean to hurt his feelings, but he isn’t himself tonight and she’s having trouble relaxing.

When their waiter returns, a tall gentleman with a long face and a black unibrow, Joseph orders escargot, oysters, frisee salads topped with delicately poached eggs, and duck confit. Belle longs for a thick square of lasagna smothered in sauce and cheese, but Joseph is watching her carefully, so she nibbles and smiles her way through each course.

Goblets of dark chocolate mousse kissed with Maldon salt are delivered to the table. Finally, something she loves! Belle dips her spoon into her dish with a happy groan, but when she looks up, Joseph is rolling up the sleeve of his jacket and staring at something under the table.

He clears his throat. “My bounteous darkening, how your eyes sparkle tonight. A thousand candles cannot compromise the glow of your loveliness.”

“Joseph?” Confused, she blinks at him and giggles. He sounds almost like...

Squinting, he shakes his head, still focused on a spot on the floor. “Let me um, whisk your eggs with a pair of...dice...yes, dice...and worship you from sunset until dawn as your most demented suppository.”

“Oh! I get it!” Belle bursts out laughing, wrapping her arms around her belly. “You sound exactly like him!”

“You would have me crawl across a shark’s ass for one whimpering caress of your abalone sky.”

Belle is howling now, and her stomach starts to cramp from laughing. “Sweetheart, stop.” She snorts another laugh and looks around the dining room. “I’m gonna pee.”

“No, that...that didn’t come out right.” His face is serious and he peers down below the table again, his brow furrowed and his rich voice stilted. “My heart is rendered in twain when you fly from my side.”

He smiles in triumph, the candles flickering on the dinner table turning his dark eyes a liquid caramel color. “I got it right this time.”

Belle bites her lip and a chill runs through her. Suddenly she realizes he isn’t joking. He’s trying to imitate Jefferson, but not in fun. “Joseph, love, are you trying to seduce me?”

His face is crestfallen. “Depends.”

“On what?” She dabs at her mouth with her napkin.

“Is it working?”

“Well...

“It would have been better if I’d wooed you in French, right?” He rakes his fingertips over the tablecloth. “I’ve been thinking of taking French classes.”

“Wait, now you want to learn to speak French?”

The waiter drops off the check and Joseph pays the bill. “You’re right,” he says when their waiter leaves. “We should take a trip to Paris instead. Why didn’t I think of it before?”

“Joseph, Paris is lovely and it’s not that I wouldn’t love a trip, but…”

“I want you to have the best, Belle.”

She stands up and comes around to his side of the table, stopping to kneel next to his chair. She takes his face in her hands and looks him square in the eyes. “I have the best already. I have you. You’re everything to me. Don’t you know that?”

Something flickers in his eyes and Belle rises from her knees, then pulls him to his feet. She nods toward the front windows of the restaurant. The sun has set and the moon is visible, full and pink in the sky.

“Dinner is over and it’s another beautiful spring evening,” she says. “Let’s take a walk.”

* * *

“Isn’t the moon stunning tonight?” Belle asks, leading him across the darkened street and down the block.

“It’s alright.” Joseph lifts his gaze to the pink moon and frowns. He should be marveling at God’s wonderful creation instead of sulking, but the evening isn’t going according to plan. His new clothes are constricting and itchy and Belle seems perturbed instead of delighted by the changes.

“Did you know the name comes from one of the first spring flowers, the wild ground phlox, which bloom around the same time as the April full moon?”

He smiles at her upturned face. His Belle, so thirsty for knowledge and eager to share what she learns. For a few sweet minutes, he walks quietly at her side, until a hulking building emerges from the shadows, the faint halo of light from the nearby street lamps bouncing off its imposing stone facade.

They’re approaching the mansion where the library party had been held four nights ago and his steps slow.

Belle propels him the last few feet toward the building, but he pulls to a stop at the front gate and crosses his arms, determined to go no further. “What are we doing here?”

She dangles a key in front of his face. “The Historical Society left me a key and said I can use the library here anytime I want.”

“But Belle…”

Her smile is sly beneath the streetlamp. “There’s no harm in going inside to take a look around, is there?”

“We saw it the other night,” he grumbles, not sure he wants to go back in there. He didn’t like the way he felt at the party, with Belle’s ex-lover sniffing around like the alpha dog. Self-conscious thoughts crash down on his head. He belongs in dirty jeans surrounded by cardboard boxes of toiletries. This date, this outfit, this entire concept of him playing the dashing sophisticate was ill-conceived. He can’t quite remember the last time he felt like such a fool.

“Humor me,” Belle says with another slight tug on his hand. “Please.”

He nods grimly, like he’s en route to his own execution, and she drags him up the walk and toward the front door calm as you please.

Once inside, she heads straight for the parlor where the party was held, as though they own this lavish building and everything inside.

Staying a step or two behind her, Joseph moves his gaze away from the confident sway of Belle’s hips to take in the space. The decadent scents of polished wood and orchids permeate the air. A massive stone fireplace is the heart of the room. In one corner is a bar carved out of exquisite teak, dripping in marble. The opposite corner features a sitting area dotted with club chairs and chaises draped in crushed green velvet, accented by elegant, marble-topped tables.

Somehow, the space looks even more decadent empty than it did teeming with Storybrooke and Boston’s elite. In the center of the sitting area is a massive floor mirror edged in a thick gold frame. Reflecting the luxurious contents of the room, the mirror seems to scream money, and his image in the pristine glass doesn’t seem to fit. The shadows beneath his eyes are hollow and the bowler hat he thought so elegant and cool looks ridiculous on his small head. He knocks the hat away and slumps his shoulders.

Belle saunters to the sitting area, choosing the chaise centered in front of the mirror. She switches on the lamp on a nearby table and Joseph’s throat tightens with renewed embarrassment when she sits down, letting her wrap slide off her shoulders and kicking her shoes under the elegant feet of the sofa.

Jefferson had sat on that very sofa, ogling his wife and whispering many of the same flowery platitudes he’d tried on her this evening. And she’d thought he was kidding. Joseph’s face flames and he closes his eyes.

When he opens them again, Belle is on her feet, her dress on the floor. The fabric pools around her ankles and she steps out of it, shoving it away with her toes. It slides across the hardwood floor, still scuffed from the partygoers’ dress shoes.

He stares at her, half in awe of her beauty in nothing but her bra and underwear, half in disbelief. She licks her lips and lowers her lusty gaze to the front of his tight trousers. “Joseph, darling, would you like to fuck me?”

“Belle?” he swallows, certain his misheard her words. “What-?

“I think you would.” The bra comes off next, and she tosses it at his feet and gestures at the chaise. “I think you want to fuck me right here, where you watched Jefferson flirt with me.”

His body tightens and his breath constricts as he imagines taking her, deep and slow, right in front of the mirror while he watches his own reflection play with her nipples. They’re reaching for him now, hard, dusky peaks begging for his mouth and his hands. His mouth waters for a taste. He was too nervous and hyper-focused on his plans to eat much at dinner, but now, with his wife shimmying out of her knickers, a hunger of a different kind gnaws at his belly.

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” she continues, waving her flimsy knickers at him. “New clothes. Fancy dinner. French lessons. You’re trying to impress me by being like _him._ But Joseph, you don’t have to try to be anyone else. It’s you I want. You I married.” She steps closer, brushing her bare breasts against his chest. “Now, do you want to fuck me?”

_God, yes._

She’s so beautiful standing before him, naked and unashamed, naughty words rolling off her lips in husky tones. “Tell me.”

It’s a gentle request, but steel laces her words, as though she’s willing him to please believe her and if he only agrees, everything will be fine and this horrible, tormenting jealousy will go away.

Joseph wavers. He’s embarrassed that Belle has seen through his act tonight, but desire burns hotter, eclipsing the awkwardness. She’s right; he wants nothing more than to replace his negative memories of this place with something beautiful.

“Yes, Belle.”

“Yes, Belle, what?” she prompts, coming close enough to press her breasts to his chest and tangle her fingers in his hair.

“Yes, I want to fuck you, Belle,” he confesses.

His cock, hard and beyond ready for her, twitches with the admission. Shaking with desire, he shucks his jacket and unties his ascot. The silk tie brushes Belle’s breasts and she moans, then rubs herself against him again. She helps him out of the tight, itchy trousers and shirt and he breathes a sigh of relief, his blood moving freely again when she tosses the slacks and underwear on top of her dress.

“Hmmm, you like this, don’t you?” She wraps her hand around his length and strokes him from root to tip. “You’re cock is so beautiful, Joseph. So big and hard and delicious. I love the taste of you in my mouth, the feel of you pushing inside me, stretching me till I break.”

“Oh God, Belle. Gonna come right now if you keep doing that.” He pants, already breathless and lightheaded from the glorious feeling of her hands stroking him and her filthy words. He watches her fondle him in the mirror, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen a more erotic image in his life. That is until Belle lets go of him to ease down on the chaise onto her back, her legs spread.

Joseph kneels down behind the chaise and stares first at the mirror, then down at Belle. Her skin shines in the lamplight, her lips are flushed and parted. The hair on the top of his head is flattened by the hat and the strands around his ears and shoulders are flying every which way, giving him the appearance of a barbarian bent over a precious sacrifice. He watches her stroke her breasts with her own hands, her mouth opening around a long, low moan.

The chestnut curls above her sex seem to glisten and her nipples are flushed and gorgeous, hardening under his touch. He picks up his ascot and dangles the cool silk over her breasts, letting the fabric ghost over her areola, circling her nipple. She cries out, arching her back, and he repeats the action on the other breast.

He covers her breasts with the fabric, then lowers his mouth to suckle her. Her nipples are hard and hot even through the silk. He would be happy to kneel her and worship her breasts forever the way she deserves, but Belle is straining toward him, trying to drag his hands down toward her mound.

Her impatience makes his heart beat triple-time and he delves his fingers into her curls with a sigh. He grazes her slit with his thumb, feeling the wetness between her legs and sweeping the ascot across her inner thighs.

Her head lolls back as he strokes her damp curls. “Do you feel how wet I am for you?” she asks, her breath coming fast and hard.

“So wet.” He thrusts two fingers inside her, curling them and pressing down on her clit with his ascot-covered thumb, using both his fingers and the tie to pleasure her. She is molten hot and completely soaked and while she watches, he sucks fingers slick with her essence into his mouth.

“Yes!” Moaning, she circles her bum against the smooth velvet couch, her breath strained and uneven as she shunts her hips.

“Belle, you taste so good.” He strokes her slit again, reveling in her moans and pleas. Joseph’s cock twitches, another bead of fluid leaking from his tip while he rubs the ascot against her body. He’s wrecked and aching to thrust inside her, but thanks to his naughty wife’s influence, he wants to try something different. Something brave.

“Could you, uh, get on your knees?” His voice shakes with the question, but she looks so delighted to comply as she turns over and lifts her hips to present him with her perfect backside.  
  
“Now what?” she asks, looking over her shoulder with a toss of her chestnut curls.

Joseph swallows heavily. He has no idea what comes next; he’s making everything up as he goes along. With a labored breath, he decides to follow his instincts. Trembling, he crawls behind her and begins to kiss her quivering thighs, then runs his tongue along each of her ass cheeks.

Belle’s eyes are closed, her head tilted back toward him, open to him in every way. “Are you jealous, my Joseph?”

“Aye.” He growls the word, then watches himself swipe his tongue around the outer rim of her arse in the mirror. Taking advantage of her gasp of surprise, he rises up on his knees to stroke her bum with his cock.

“Ahhh!” She rotates her hips in a backward circle, her arse grinding against his cock while she snakes a hand behind her and fingers his balls.

Returning the delicious torture, he moves his hands up her torso to pinch her nipples the way he knows she loves. Glancing in the mirror again, he works the little buds between his fingers. When she whimpers, he withdraws to watch his dark hands frame her slender hips.

Belle whines, noise high-pitched and desperate, then shifts her hips backward again. He glides his fingers through her slick folds once more and rests his other hand against the curve of her ass. “So wet, my bonny Belle.” He hisses against her neck and scrapes her skin with his teeth while he strokes her.  
  
He rubs her clit until she clenches around his fingers and cries out, her juices running down his hand and over his wrist as he works her through her orgasm. She is gorgeous in her abandon, her whole body shaking with her screams, her face in the mirror contorting with pleasure, and he thinks his seed will burst from his body.

She slumps forward on the sofa, her delectable arse still in the air. He closes his fingers around the base of his cock, squeezing himself to keep from coming. It’s a stopgap measure and he isn’t going to last. He needs to be buried inside her.

“I’m going to take you now, Belle,” he rasps. He lines himself up and sweeps his tip through her folds, awaiting her permission.

“Yes! Joseph. Fuck, I’m so ready! Take me!”

She wriggles her bottom, bracing her hands on the curved side of the chaise. With a howl he slams into her, his eyes rolling back in his head. Their moans are harsh, his balls slapping against her vulva as he thrusts inside her at a punishing pace.

Belle’s hands grip the side of the chaise tightly, her knuckles whitening with each thrust of his cock. He lifts his head to watch himself in the mirror, his jaw slackened and his eyes black as he pounds into her, harder than he ever has before. “You’re mine,” he says. “All mine.”  
  
His heart stutters at his forceful, possessive tone, but her moans and cries grow louder and more intense as he babbles the words like a litany— _mine, mine, mine_ —while he barrels toward the finish like a runaway train.

Through the haze of pleasure, he frames her hips with his hands, drawing her backward and upright until her back is pressed against his chest. The contact stimulates his nipples and he groans, his control faltering again. He circles his hips, penetrating her slow and easy, and she slides one arm up and around his neck to lean against him, her damp, lavender-scented hair tickling his nose.

“So close.” Her eyes are squeezed shut, her head rolling back and forth against his chest as she moans. “Joseph, please. You know...what I need.”

He palms her breasts with his hands, focused on the mirror while he rolls and caresses her nipples, remembering the sweet taste of her skin as he continues to thrust. Her body pulls at him with greedy squeezes and he slips his fingers between her thighs to circle her clit, chasing her pleasure.

“Yes! Almost-I’m…” Her words dissolve into screams when he pinches her clit, the little bud throbbing and her channel clenching around him, clamping down on his cock.

At last, he lets go with a hoarse shout and pours himself into her, the pleasure blinding as his cock pulses and his hips stutter.

They both collapse forward on the couch, damp with sweat and breathless with exertion. When their breathing slows, he flops down against the back of the sofa, cradling her against his chest. She is so wee, his precious, bonny Belle. He shifts onto his side so they can lie down face-to-face.

“Oh Joseph,” she says, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “That was amazing. I love you.”

“It wasn’t too much?” he asks, guilt crowding in at how arousing it had been to take her from behind and watch her in the mirror. His spent cock twitches again and he groans. He can’t begin to contemplate the dry cleaning bill from tonight’s activities.

“Are you kidding?” She grins. “This is my idea of a quality evening.”

“But I thought you loved to dress up and go out,” he says in surprise. All this time he thought Belle went along with the sweatpants and comfort foods as a concession to him.

“No. I love when you cook for us and we cuddle on the couch. Going out is a means to an end.” Her grin widens to Cheshire cat proportions. “I dress up to enjoy the look on your face when I take off my clothes and throw them on the floor. And my yoga pants. I really love my yoga pants.”

“I see.”

“Do you?” She raises a skeptical eyebrow, looking pointedly at the smudges of black ink that tattoo his inner forearm arm.

“Maybe not.” He squirms, a bit uncomfortable. “Sometimes it’s still hard for me to believe you love me, that you chose a life with me. I’m not worthy of you.”

“Oh Joseph, nothing could be further from the truth. You have tremendous worth—to me, to our friends, to God—far beyond what you can imagine. And I love you far too much to lose you to some cheap copy of someone else.” She kisses a damp spot beneath his ear. “Darling, you are rare and beautiful. Precious to me. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” His heart is light as a feather. His wife loves him and he doesn’t need to be anything or anyone except himself. He glances ruefully at his uncomfortable outfit, now lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. “I’ll return those stupid clothes tomorrow.”

The curve of her lips is sweet and lazy, her eyes slipping closed after the long, busy night and intense, drugging pleasure. “I think we should keep the ascot.”

 

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How successful was Joseph's seduction? You guys decide. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> I have a part 2 in mind if there's interest. What do you guys think?


End file.
